My Grandma's funeral
Firstly a bit of background for you all- I come from a very strict Roman Catholic family (my Grandfather was a Deacon ffs- for those of you that don't know that's one down from a Priest).

My Grandma was, to put it bluntly, a bitch. She was sent straight from Hell to torment my mother and her four brothers every day of their lives. Her twat of a husband (Deacon Grandpapa) was Satan himself who abused his kids both mentally, physically and sexually. As you can imagine, me and my two sisters weren't all that keen on the pair. But, for some reason, we always had to stay in contact with them for my mother had been brainwashed by them Catholics from an early age and believed that ten commandment crap about respecting your mother and father and shit.

So when my Mum died 8 years ago me, my Dad and my two sisters jointly thought, 'Fuck them.' And never spoke to them again.

Cut to 5 years after that and Deacon Satan pops his pickled-livered hip-popping cloggs. Did we go to the funeral? Did we fuck.

Exactly a month after that- Grandma decides to hop it back to Hell too. Now, for some strange reason - maybe Catholic guilt, maybe drugs, I just can't say- me and my sisters suddenly feel a little bit guilty that we never spoke to her again.

So we decide that we will go to this funeral. We weren't looking forward to seeing 'the faaaamily' again, but off we popped.

Turns out that the two hour drive we were expecting was actually 2 and a half. So we arrived late. Yes, LATE to my Grandmother's funeral. But not only were we late, we were doing a very noisy 75 down an old biddy style quiet country lane and did a handbrake turn into the church yard. We SCREECHED into the church yard and looked at the whole family, waiting outside, watching the coffin being carried in, utterly disgusted by us black sheep.

To top it off, my sister who had driven decided she needed to change from her 'driving shoes' (a concept I've never understood as I can drive in any shoe imaginable) so she lept out of the car- WAVED at people (remember, they hate us, we hate them, we haven't seen each other for years)- then proceeded in vain to attempt to change from her ridiculous little leopard print ballet pump things to black knee length boots. I don't know which type of footwear was less appropriate. At this point my little sister spots an Uncle crying and bursts out laughing. To this day she doesn't know why and puts it down to nerves. Her giggles didn't stop. All through the service.

So anyway, were (obviously) last to enter the church. But when we got in the only fucking bench thing left was the second row from front. So down we sat. Lil sis's giggles still making her shake uncontrolably. This sets me and big sis off too.. the three of us are sat there shaking like mad women- the worst thing is people thought we were crying so were handing us tissues. We just had to take them without turning round in case they weren't met with the teary faces they'd anticipated and were instead greeting by three grinning idiots. Disrespectful idiots.

The service starts. My Grandmother had three siblings, two of which in were in t'ground too and one which was sat on the row behind us, Auntie Anne. She's a bitch n all. The Priest talks about Grandma's life n that and then says, 'So of course, Teresa will now be joining her siblings in heaven, Frank, Anne..' and Anne shouts, 'I'M NOT DEAD!'

This of course did nothing to help stiffle our giggles and I just couldn't hold it in any longer- I burst out laughing and I - I don't know why- turned around to face my grieving relatives and laughed in all of theirs faces. Their faces of horror just made me laugh even more.

We didn't stay for the wake. We haven't seen the family since.
(Otteras serious as cancer, Thu 19 Mar 2009, 16:05,
closed)